“Mr. D’Archand!” “Please tell Audrey I am here,” he said, stalking past the clearly upset girl to the parlor. He flung off his coat and helped himself to another brandy. If Audrey saw other men, he didn’t care as long as it didn’t interfere with his own needs. He paid for her, her clothes and the house. He came first. If she was with someone now, he damn well expected her to get rid of him. With that thought in mind, he walked to the parlor doors and shut them firmly so no one would be embarrassed. The maid returned to tell him madame would be with him shortly. Brett nodded and stared out the French doors into the small but pleasant garden. A huge oak tree growing very close to the house almost blocked his vision, but it didn’t matter. Instead of seeing the azaleas, which were just coming into bloom, and the purple-flowered shrubbery, he saw Storm. Of course. How in hell was he going to get her out of his mind? It was hard to believe she wanted an annulment. Every other woman in San Francisco would die to be in her place, but she didn’t want him.
